


Evil Isn't in Your Core

by wickedskeleton



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 07:39:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5658094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedskeleton/pseuds/wickedskeleton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isolated from his family, temperamental recluse Ben Solo longs for a new, more thrilling lifestyle, but also some kind of redemption following the tragedy of his past mistakes. Luckily for him, the galaxy's biggest warm hearted troublecauser -Poe Dameron- has exactly what he's looking for. To some extent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evil Isn't in Your Core

 

Neon lights lit his pathway as trickles of rain littered and glittered the pavement beneath the worn soles of his boots. He scoffed at the sight of his visible breath as he shuddered under the moonlight and the array of grey clouds above, grasping the fur of his coat hood in a desparate attempt to keep his head -and predominantly his mess of hair- dry. One slender arm reached out wearily to press a palm against the glass of the diner door. A shoddy diner, perhaps the type to stay open late and attract wanderers and the misguided into its harsh, neon red glow with open but dispiriting arms. The service was lacking in adequance -something he knew but rather enjoyed, as it meant collapsing into one of the booths was quite a solitary experience. Often he would stare at the incendiaries with dead eyes set far back into his skull, entertaining thrilling tales that were far from his norm.

  
Running a single cold bitten hand through his hair with disdain, he revelled in the vibrations bouncing off the walls; coincidently the same song would play every time he sauntered through the door of the diner. He durst question why.  
With more hastle than necessary, he threw his exhausted body upon the faux leather seats, the material forming an impression of his tired limbs as he rested them upon the gleaming crimson.

Droplets of water clung to his jaw, pulling softly at the unshaven prickles along the outline of his face: tugging, tugging, tugging... "Excuse me?" he instantaneously returned to reality, where a woman dressed accordingly pestered him, notepad in hand, "If you're not ordering, please take your leave."

  
He had been there all of two minutes and already he was being told to vacate -a feeling he knew all too well. He scorned at her and his response came with hesitation while he observed the figure before him: gentle features and a warming smile seemed almost too unreal for this type of get up. He frowned with a sigh, "A milkshake. Strawberry. Thanks." Too tired for chit chat and whatnot.

She left with his desires scrawled hastily on the lines and not as much joy in her actions as her looks gave way to. Why must she wear a façade? He allowed such to be left unanswered, but pondered responses nevertheless. Numerous amounts of misfits had all gathered upon the stools at the front of the bistro, elbows resting on the bar, listening to one and other earnestly. His gaze refused to turn its attention elsewhere. Smoke wavered above their heads like a bad atmosphere but to him it was as if he could see their thought bubbles and nothing else could offer such intrigue. He yearned for their passion. He yearned for a sense of adventure. He yearned for what his life would not allow. Most of all, he yearned for that milkshake.

His eyes fixated on one particular gentleman whose facial features were accentuated under the harsh glow of the flurescent lamp above his head, as his arm and hands seemingly expressed his tale more than his words could. All attention at the bar was on him. All eyes narrowed and faces contorting at his story. All lips sealed and ears pricked up like curious dogs because of him. Just one guy and his adventurous life. And it maddened the man sat in the booth to a great extent -who had nothing but a dull 9-5 life.

The sudden shock of a human voice next to him caused imminent realisation that he had been staring far longer than anticipated, "Quite a character, isn't he?" The waitress had returned and she was setting down his milkshake. He grumbled lowly. She continued, "Not a regular customer either, but I know that face. Trouble, probably." She left without a word more.

  
He himself had seldom seen a face of such wonder, with dark eyes and a mouth that probably held more than a thousand secrets. With little effort he puckered his lips around the red straw extruding from his cup and began enjoying the taste of the sweet, pink froth, humming distractingly to himself. Pulling away from the drink he slumped his chin onto one hand, looking fed up and full of discontent, breathing heavily as feelings of begrudging set in, igniting like dynamite everytime he looked over at the man at the bar. And right now he was playing with fire; he could not stop staring and he could not stop the anger bubbling away spitefully inside of him. It was as if time slowed down when the stranger's eyes finally met his. Although grateful for this odd little connection, he could feel his blood pulsating through his tangle of veins, stricken with frustration and pangs of envy.

  
Having lost the urge to sit and gather dust while his mouth hung ajar at some stranger across the bar, he delved deep into his pockets to retrieve a handful of coins and threw them onto the table besides a half drank milkshake. Unhesitantly he slid across the booth chair, clumsily banging his knees on the table which he was sure would bruise. He ambled bitterly through the diner, bashing his forehead on a low hanging decorative ornament.

  
"Be sure to come back, Mr.-"

  
"Fuck off." He spat savagely at the voice behind him, balling his hand up into a fist and dragging his boots across the floor in a tantrum, which seemed to be more than just a manifestation of his blundering behaviour. He shoved open the diner door and cared too little to turn around and stare furthermore at the misfit at the bar.

However, upon brushing past the far from pristine diner window, he offered himself half a glance back so he could remember the face of the man who -out of jealousy- he would beat himself up over. But his stool was empty and those around it had turned their attention elsewhere. Shrugging his shoulders he continued along the street, head down and hands in pockets. By this point the rain had surpassingly reduced and only thin droplets fell fluidly from the sky, catching on decaying stoneworks and on cars whirring past. He didn't want to return to an empty house tonight for he felt shame in the nothingness he would find there.

Grinding his teeth slightly, he clambered into his beaten car -which was supposedly red, but the layers of dirt gave way to a more maroon colour- and forced the key into the ignition. The car hummed lowly and loudly as he reached for the cigarettes on the dashboard. He flicked open the zippo and the interior of his car abruptly became dimly lit with an amber flicker, reflecting warmly off the black, (evidently fake) leather.

Soon his car became a hotbox -notably with less illicit substances- and he revelled in the distasteful scent that lingered. While inhaling fumes, he observed the zippo in hand -a recent family heirloom with little meaning to him, and on it etched a car which he could not name even if he tried. To him, the sentiment of the object meant very little, if anything at all; he came close to tempestuously launching it out of the car window when it took him several attempts to conjure a flame. It was a zippo and nothing more -and a bad one at that.  
When the cigarette finally singed to a halt and flakes of ash drifted solemnly to the floor he took a deep breath and headed out on the road.

Headlights of oncoming cars beamed blindingly upon the road, shimmering disorientatingly on the streams of water gathering on the asphalt, which was typically as black as the night, but tonight it was livened with the enthusiastic splashes of rain and bright lights. He could not relate. Tonight he couldn't feel more lifeless if he was buried six feet under. Often his frequent outings to the diner, _Solar Shakes_ , would vastly improve his mentality and temporarily push his woes under the carpet -metaphorically so. However, his angst and frustration was stubborn and times like this were common, so learning to live and let die would suffice. It always did.

  
"Trust the rain to turn a shit night into an even worse one," He murmered to himself, the pitch of his voice matching the rumble of the car's engine -gritty and slightly monotone, yet characteristic and expressive nonetheless, "if I didn't know these roads like the back of my damn hand I'd probably find myself staring at a smashed hood and an oak tree. Or something." He scoffed at his own lack of optimism. The rain pounding against the windscreen muffled his voice. Not that anyone was listening to his ramblings.

  
Just as he was settling in to the stiff seat of his car, the material barely hugging his shape, a pothole in the road disrupted the swift course of the vehicle and shot him into the air, no seatbelt to stop such movement. In this case and like many other similar predicaments, excessive height proved to be a detriment to his wellbeing. But this did more than inflict injury on his head -it resulted in the rapid revoke of a relatively tranquil temperment.  
"Ahh, fucking- Why? Why?" he snarled through gritted teeth, bashing his clenched fist against the radio, slamming his foot down on the acceleration, practically every muscle in his body tensed, "Is it so fucking hard to put your 'hard earned cash' to good fucking use? Assholes. If I had half a chance -why I'd, I'd-" he cut himself off and exhaled, "ARGHHHHH."

A considerably emphatic, drawn out howl escaped his mouth, which lasted serveral seconds before his throat ran dry. Then followed the self inflicted pummeling, the sound of flesh smacking cloth, rhythmically beating like a drum, accompanied by far from harmonious heavy breathing and groaning. Soon the hyperventilating rendered him breathless and exhausted. Quite a docile tantrum, had you witnessed his others.

  
Soon, the car came into contact with the muddy trail that lead to his house, dousing the vehicle in a thick, unkempt layer of sludge. It was hardly as if the car was much to look at, but the dirt proved to be quite an eyesore. Trees engulfed him, towering high above almost condescendingly, their limbs withered and twisted, silhouetted under the dim moonlight. Typically such a setting is comparable to a horror movie -the unnerving atmosphere and constant notion that you're not alone makes you to quiver more than the cold ever could- yet he found a sense of belonging in the desolate woods. That, and the pungent smell of pine was worth waking up to every morning.

  
He pulled up in front of the lodge, the rain still pattering down strongly, "Sometimes, I don't know why I bother. No, most of the time I don't know why I bother." He headed inside. Soft eyes and a warm heart greeted him, pounding its paws against the carpet, "Wanna go out, little pup? Huh? Course you do, you always want to. Not that I mind."

  
Heading back out, he and the dog walked side by side, following hand painted signs on the trees, no particular destination in mind. This time -although the rain remaind persistent- he didn't pull his hood over his hair. Instead he let it run across every rumpled strand, relishing in the sensation -much like taking a cold showever but more outdoorsy.

  
"It's just you and I, Chip," he spoke, dragging his worn boots through the leaves, "and that's alright," Chip paid no mind, "I figured we'll be okay. It's not bad out here, is it? Sometimes I get lonely. I miss them, Chip."

  
Coming to a halt, he noticed an incline of rocks climbing to a steady peak. Whistling for Chip's attention, the hound hurrying to his side, the two walked up the slope and threw themselves down on the dampened stone, "This would be a good view if not for the dark, Right?" he felt the need for constant reassurance, "I don't know..." his voiced trailed away.

  
Opposite the pair was a vast lake, expanding over several miles of wonderous ground, capturing breathtaking reflections of the plentiful foliage overhanging the water. Sandy banks faded away like worn shoe soles into a blissful blue, the water scintillating with the ripples of rainfall crashing down. Chip came beside him, and on him put his full bodyweight, whimpering slightly at the bitter droplets clinging to his fur.

  
A small figure approached from behind, but the volume of the rain meant he was oblivious to such. Closer it moved, taking large, strainuous steps to avoid sinking into the mud. It edged nearer and nearer but still too quiet to notice. Suddenly, it came to a stop, as if something else had occupied its attention. The piercing snap of a twig breaking sent the dog and the man's heed hurtling to directly behind them.

  
Someone, dripping wet with precipitation, stood eerily before them, "I like your dog."

  
"Excuse me? What are- Who are you?" the man shuffled closer to Chip, "Hey! Stay away from my dog -that is if you don't want to catch these hands."

  
"Catch these hands? Sorry just hold up a minute did you really just use the phrase 'catch these hands'? With the look you're sporting surely you can threaten me with something else- something more sinister."

  
"You know I can say what I want." his husky voice reverbirated off the rocks but was mostly drowned out by the increasing intensity of the rain tumbling down from the darkness above them.  
"Ohhh, I like it. Much more threatening and stern. Truly frightening and I-"

  
"QUIET!" he roared, just as a clash of thunder boomed like an erupting volcano, the lightning beforehand revealing a familiar face, "...wait, do I know you?"

  
The other man was still in awe at how the weather seemed to alter with his temperament. It took him several moments to regain composure after such an astounding display of frustration emphasized with bellowing thunder, "Uh, no, not personally."

  
"Well you might find it in your best interests to introduce youself." Chip growled a concurring growl at this remark.

  
"Of course -where are my manners? Name's Poe. Poe Dameron. Biggest hotshot in the solar system. Might've heard of me," he smiled obnoxiously though it was difficult to see such expression for the lack of light. However, the smile contorted into a frown when the light of the moon gave way to the other man's face of confusion, "...You haven't heard of me? Really? Holy- Who am I kidding, a guy like you, you're practically a _hermit_ living all the way out here on your own."

  
"You mistake my confusion for lack of giving a fuck." he spat back.

  
"Rude. And hostile. Just like back at _Solar Shakes._ " Poe laughed a gracious laugh and took the man's hostility with a pinch of salt. Okay, with a handful of salt.

  
"I know who you are. You're that guy with quite a reputation and I think you should explain why you're out here. On _my_ land. 'Cause if you tailed me here -for whatever reason- that will be your last and final mistake." His breathing became heavy and agitated and soon his teeth were grinding away yet again.

  
Another flash of lightning saw Poe run his hands through his sodden hair, reflecting a rather vain personality, "Alright okay, tell me your name so I can explain to you, civilly, why I'm out here."

  
The man scoffed, " _Fine_. It's Ben."

  
"Ben. Hi Ben," he outstretched an arm as if for a handshake but Ben batted it away violently, "Jeez okay. But Ben? Just Ben? That like a two-in-one first name and surname?"

  
"Solo."

  
Poe paused, "Huh?"

  
"My last name is Solo." Ben rolled his eyes in discontent. More than anything he wanted to return home and strip off the soaking clothes, throwing himself under the warm covers of his bed, engulfing himself in the much needed heat. But first he had to deal with Poe. Poe, to him, seemed like your run of the muck trouble causer: egotistical with the tendency to pry eagerly into business other than their own and Ben wasn't sure what to think. If he knew Poe's intentions, perhaps better judgement could be made.

  
"Solo- a fitting name for you out here in complete and total isolation. You and the dog -who might I add I adore very much." Although Ben could hardly see for the thickening clouds drifting casually in front of the moon, he sensed Poe could hardly take his eyes off Chip.

  
"Call him chip. That's his name." Ben insisted, refusing to take his gaze off Poe's sillhouette -not out of admiration or jealousy this time, but instead a gut feeling in his stomach inferring Poe was up to no good, "And you're gonna tell me why you're here, aren't you Poe?"

  
"That's the question I've been waiting for," Poe's face became reddened when he realised he had not -not for one moment- wiped the stupid grin he was adorning from his handsome face, "But let me strike you a deal," Ben rolled his eyes again, and could tell as long as he was conversating with Poe, that would happen a lot, "You let me stay overnight and I'll tell you everything over the breakfast you're gonna cook me tomorrow morning."

  
Ben refused to believe the audacity, "You're out of your damn mind, Dameron. Quit it."

  
"Ohh if you could see me now _Solo_ , I'm batting my eyelashes at you in a desparate attempt to win over your heart," Ben shook his head, "I'll take bacon and pancakes for breakfast. And my sweet tooth will take a lot of syrup with that too."

 


End file.
